


The Next Best Thing

by DevineMandate



Series: Sour, Savory, Sweet [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Post-Lethal White
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevineMandate/pseuds/DevineMandate
Summary: Robin ain't waiting around.
Series: Sour, Savory, Sweet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661248
Comments: 19
Kudos: 16





	The Next Best Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Still sad about/angry with JKR.
> 
> Still writing fanfic.
> 
> But legitimately sorry if the last thing I put up here made you uncomfortable or angry. If it felt like I was berating, I was. One day not too long from now, I'm going to re-read the books, and add a chapter to that story from a more canon perspective, with Robin as the disappointed party. Maybe the way she reacts will more gently express my POV.
> 
> In the meantime, there's this. For Robin. Because she deserves some peace and happiness.

Robin Ellacott emerged from the office’s small bathroom, dressed in what she considered her second sexiest dress (the poison green one would stay on its hanger for now), black and short-skirted, with a low neckline.

Cormoran Strike was in the office and dressed to the nines as well. He gave Robin one quick glance and then looked away.

“You look nice,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said absently, fiddling with the studs in her ears as she looked at the mirror one last time.

“Is, er…where’s this James bloke taking you this evening?”

“John. And we’re going to the opera. Carmen.”

“Is that the one where the jealous arsehole kills her at the end?”

“Yeah, but they’ve made a change there for this production apparently. She kills him instead.” Robin looked at her phone. “Have to leave in just a moment. Where are you and Charlotte going?”

“I think she wants to see a local jazz group after we go to Chez Pierre.” He did not look very keen.

Robin smiled softly, reacting to his expression. “Not your first choice?”

Strike looked for a moment as though he had something to say to that, and then stopped himself, and looked at Robin again, his gaze taking in her whole body but not lingering lasciviously. “You really do look beautiful, Robin. I’ll be so bold as to say John is a lucky man.”

Robin blushed. Had he ever said anything as outright complimentary and overtly sexual about her appearance as that? “Thank you.” She paused. “I don’t know if I’m particularly excited about the opera myself, to be honest.”

“Well, not the point is it, really? About being with the other person and all that. This is your fourth date with him?”

“Third.”

“Right—do you like him?”

His tone was only polite curiosity, and his face was smooth and open, but Robin tensed visibly. It was the most personal demand for information of this nature she could recall him requesting of her, at least without her broaching the topic first.

She looked him directly in the eye.

“I like him enough to go out with him again and see what happens. He seems to appreciate me as a human being as well as a woman. He’s very different from Matthew, a little neurotic, but mostly in a charming way. He’s smart and quietly sarcastic--he’s made me laugh a few times. Yeah, I like him.” Her chin went up, as if daring him to say anything to this.

Strike’s eyes narrowed and his forehead furrowed for a fraction of a second, but then he was smiling and saying, “That’s great. I’m really happy for you. I’ll take one more liberty here and say that after what that bastard put you through all those years, you deserve some real luck in romance. I hope you and John have a great evening.”

“Thanks, Cormoran, I appreciate it.” Robin did not have any genuine good wishes for Charlotte or Strike’s evening with her, so she did not give the reply that polite society demanded. Instead, she slipped on her coat, took her bag, and started for the door. “Have a good weekend, speak to you soon.”

Behind her, Strike looked at Robin, his expression undisguised, swinging between the yearning of unfulfilled love and the helpless rage of jealousy.

But Robin was already going down the stairs and did not look back.

********

How it had burned when Cormoran had started seeing Charlotte again. It had taken away anything resembling peace, and for weeks afterward, she had slept very little, waking fitfully with pain in her stomach and an aching head, waves of sadness washing over her.

It was nearly a month after the fact before she pulled herself together and decided to try to move on.

Then she had put up a dating site profile, and that same day, after he sent a charmingly self-deprecating first communication, she started messaging with John. After a few exchanges, he had broached the idea of meeting in person, and she’d agreed. (She used her resources to verify he was who he said he was and had no criminal record…she had touched fire at university, and was not going to be burned again if there was anything she could do about it.) He was dark-haired, with thick glasses, a little shorter than her, and not traditionally attractive (not that she considered that a priority…Matthew had practically put her off handsomeness), but he had the most beautiful eyes, green, with longer lashes than she’d ever seen on a man before. His eyes had depth and intelligence behind them, too. It was the look in his (non-bespectacled) eyes on one of his profile photos that had led her to accede to meeting him in person.

The initial date with John had gone awkwardly for the first ten minutes before they had stumbled upon a shared love of Monty Python, which had led to Fawlty Towers, which had led to A Fish Called Wanda, which had led to a satisfactory exchange of basic family information, likes, and pet peeves. On their way out of the pub after two good hours of talk, he had walked her to her Tube station, hugged her briefly, and said he hoped they could do this again soon before he walked away. Robin felt no pressure. It was good.

She asked him out again the week after to a picnic lunch, and it went very well. After they’d eaten and talked at length about everything and nothing, she had felt comfortable enough with him to put her head in his lap. He had stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. It felt nice to be the recipient of such gentle affection. When he took her to the Tube station that day, he had embraced her again and made to leave as before, but Robin grabbed him by the wrist as he turned away, and looked into his face, expectant and hopeful. John came forward and pulled her head down to his (Robin, of course, had never kissed anyone shorter than herself), and his kiss was SO much better than Matthew’s. 

He smiled after as he walked away, saying over his shoulder: “I’m thinking that’s a yes to date number three, but let me know if I’m wrong.”

Robin had found another reason to regret Matt: he had stolen years of potentially excellent kisses from her. If she’d only left him at university…the things she might have done…the men she might have met…

********

Robin arrived at the theater, and located John in the lobby. He kissed her cheek and pulled back to admire her entirety. “Wow, Robin. You look fantastic.”

“You look nice yourself,” she said, smiling. He was a bit narrow of frame, almost bird-like in his proportions, but his clothes suited him, and he really did have the nicest eyes. He also had a constant smirk on his face when it was at rest, as though he had a private joke with the world that left him continuously amused. It was sexy. And it made a nice change from Strike’s habitual scowl.

During intermission, between the second and third act, he looked at her face, and correctly interpreted it, saying, “I dunno, this is pretty fucking boring if you ask me, except for the music. Honestly, I think I only asked you here because opera seems like something classy, something worthy of you. But it turns out I’m bloody fucking well fed up with it. You up for something else?”

His uncensored, constant, good-natured swearing reminded her favorably of Cormoran.

And Robin _was_ up for something else. She took a deep breath, and said:

“Do you want to come back with me to my flat?” She was on tenterhooks now. 

Was she being too forward? Would he think her crass or too fast? Would he refuse?

John blinked and said, “I mean…yeah. Yeah, of course I do. I’d be a downright moron not to accept that invitation.”

On the Tube ride, they held hands, him stroking her palm and brushing his fingers gently up and down the length of her fingers.

Robin’s nerves jangled as they walked from the Tube stop to her flat. She fumbled with the key in the lock for a few seconds before she could turn it properly.

“Cup of tea?” she said as she closed the door behind her, glad that her flatmate was gone for the weekend.

“Actually,” said John, and he stepped forward and pressed her bodily (firmly but not too firmly) against the door. Her hands were in his hair, and her tongue was in his mouth before she could think about anything else. He was stroking her thigh, his other hand spread across her back as he kissed her. She was pleased to find that, even encased in his pants without visual evidence, she could tell his erect cock was bigger than the rest of his frame might suggest (definitely not bird-like and DEFINITELY bigger than Matthew). She reached for his arse and squeezed, and he, emboldened by her grip on his bum, reached up her skirt and grabbed her bottom and moaned at the feel of it.

She reached for the bottom of his shirt, untucked it, unbuttoned it, got his shirt off, and ran her hands through his chest and back hair (he was not as hairy as Strike but he was hairy, and that was different from Matthew too). He was attempting to both kiss her and take off his shoes at the same time, and finally stepped away to do the job properly as he removed his trousers and socks, now only in boxer briefs.

“May I?” he said, gesturing to her dress.

“Yes, please.” She turned around and he pulled the zip down and moved his hands toward her shoulders.

Suddenly she thought: _I wish it had been different. I wish it were different._

He could see, just in the posture of her stiffening body, that something was wrong. “Robin, what is it? Are you all right?”

She turned around, her dress still on, but nearly off her shoulders. “John…John, I want this. I want you. But I have to be honest with you. I’m in love with another man who’s unavailable.”

“Oh.” He sounded a little deflated, but not defeated. “That’s a shame, I’m sorry. Is he married or engaged or is he just an idiot who doesn’t see an amazing opportunity when it’s in front of him?”

Robin smiled, gratified by the sideways compliment. “I don’t know if I’d call him an idiot, but he’s not married. He’s made a really poor decision in his choice of partner recently…”

“Obviously.”

She smiled again. “It’s complicated. Will you promise to keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

She hesitated, but her very strong impression of him was that she could trust him. “He’s my partner at work. Cormoran Strike. I’ve never told him.”

“Oh!” His face was owlish with his wide eyes behind his thick glasses; Strike had come up some in their talks, though John had been unaware of him or his celebrity until he met Robin. “Well, I understand your problem a little better now given the work situation…I have to say I’m feeling a little inadequate all of a sudden. A 6-foot plus war veteran celebrity detective built like a bloody truck and me a software developer half a head shorter than you, built like a fucking bicycle.”

“Oh no no no, you’re not inadequate, you’re lovely! I’ve had such a good time these last few weeks. It’s just…you’re too decent and kind a man for me to lie to you. I want you to go in…” Robin blushed a little at her own choice of words. “…with your eyes open.”

“Thank you, but I have to ask: do you think there’s any chance I can replace him? In your heart, I mean. You’re incredibly attractive, and you seem like a magnificent person, honestly, but I don’t think I can live with being your side action while you mark time.”

She was silent a moment. “You don’t need to replace him. He’s only there because I let him be, and I’m not living like that anymore. I want you to help take him out of my heart and out of my head.”

She let her dress fall to the floor, now only in bra and pants.

“Jesus Christ, Robin! Holy fuck, I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful. You’re a wonder. I can’t believe I’m so lucky.”

He came forward and embraced her, his hands smooth as he stroked her back, shoulders, and neck, before he reached behind her and unhooked her bra. 

Robin’s pulse rate shot up, and she kissed him enthusiastically as he moved the bra straps off of her shoulders and pulled them down her arms. He raised one hand to her breast, and Robin sighed.

“Let’s go to the bed,” she said.

They did, and after a bit more kissing and touching, Robin’s knickers were the only article of clothing on either of them.

John reached to pull her pants down, but then looked up and gave her one more chance, his hands poised at her hips, his fingers hooked into the waistband but not pulling down yet. “Are you sure?”

Robin was silent for a couple of seconds. _I AM sure, but there’s regret here too. Cormoran. Cormoran, I wanted it to be you. I wanted you to be the next one, the only other one after Matt. I wanted it to be us, and I still do. But you’re in bed with a cruel, monstrous woman, and I can’t live my life clinging to hope. I’m sorry the next one wasn’t you._

“I’m sure.”

And then John made sure that Robin did not think about Cormoran Strike again that night.

**Author's Note:**

> How much is _Troubled_ fucking _Blood_ a "Strike gets back with Charlotte" title?


End file.
